


you be the motive and i'll be the gun

by dangerbears



Series: pictures of success [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-23
Updated: 2012-07-23
Packaged: 2017-11-10 13:37:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/466898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dangerbears/pseuds/dangerbears
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. louis is still kind of a mess (but not really) and harry is still kind of perfect and reality is kind of something neither of them are prepared for. sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/466895">don't give up on us quite yet</a> -- prior reading probably required, i apologise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you be the motive and i'll be the gun

Louis is full of secrets. 

He doesn't fully lie, or at least he tries not to, but he has this two inch layer of bulletproof glass around his past.

It drives Harry mad. He's understanding, he is. He gets it -- Louis has had a shitty few years, a lonely few years. Harry _gets_ that and he wants to do all he can to make up for that, to make Louis feel loved and safe and cared for, but. 

Sue him, he's fucking curious, alright?

*

Harry lets himself into Zayn and Louis's apartment on Sunday evening. He kicks the door closed behind him and calls, "I come bearing gifts!" 

There's some quiet murmuring coming from the living room and Harry's eyebrows pull together. He quickly drops the grocery bags off in the kitchen and heads in. Zayn and Louis are wrapped around each other on the couch. Well, Louis is curled up into Zayn, his head pressed into Zayn's collarbones, and Zayn's fingers are combing through Louis's hair, arms wound tightly around him. 

Harry stops in the doorway. 

See, it's like, Harry knows how Louis and Zayn are. Has known how Louis and Zayn are since the first day he met Louis. It freaked him out at first, honestly. It freaked him out how well they know each other, how close they are, how much of a claim Zayn has staked on Louis. It freaks him out how dependent Louis is on Zayn. 

There's no real jealousy there. At least, Harry doesn't think he's jealous. Zayn's been there for Louis through the worst shit Harry can imagine and Harry's incredibly grateful to him for that. It's just. Sometimes Harry wants to be the one Louis comes to. Sometimes Harry wants to hold Louis through his insecurities, through his issues. Sometimes Harry wishes he didn't walk in halfway through the movie and feel like an intruder. 

Hesitantly, he says, "What's up?"

Zayn cranes his neck to look back at Harry. "Hey, mate," he says quietly. He jerks his head in an obvious _come here_ gesture, and Harry bites his lip but comes. As he gets in front of the couch, he notices Louis is asleep, but his eyes are red, his face puffy. 

"Hey, Lou," he whispers, kneeling down, brushing his thumb over Louis's cheekbone. 

Louis's eyelashes flutter and he blearily cracks his eyes open. He sees Harry and immediately smiles, struggles to sit up. His hands scrub at his face and fix his hair hurriedly. "Hazza!" he says brightly.

Harry glances at Zayn, sees Zayn roll his eyes. "Lou, I'm going to Liam's tonight. I'll see you at work tomorrow, yeah?"

Louis turns quickly to Zayn and there's communication there, with just that fucking look. Harry looks away, down at the floor. He hears Zayn sigh heavily and untangle himself from Louis. 

"Have a good night, lads," Zayn says as he leaves the room. 

"See you, mate," Harry says after him, willing Zayn to turn around and tell him what the fuck is going on. God knows Louis won't. 

Louis pulls him onto the couch. "I missed you," he says as he presses kisses to Harry's face. 

"Missed you too, Lou. Are you okay?" Harry tries to arrange himself so Louis's elbow isn't on his balls and his ass isn't hanging off the cushion. 

Louis waits patiently for Harry to get comfortable before sprawling on top of him. "Most excellent, babe. Just pining for your body whenever it's not touching mine. What should we do tonight? Drink? Fuck? Watch a movie? Body shots while watching a movie?"

Harry bites his lip and glances away. "Lou, come on, what's up? Is everything alright?"

"What are you talking about?" Louis widens his eyes before grabbing Harry's hand and playing with his fingers. 

Harry doesn't know how hard to push. Louis can be volatile, unpredictable. He's a bloody minefield of insecurities and Harry walks on his tiptoes every day. 

He lets it go for now. After too long a pause, Harry shrugs. "How was your day, beautiful?" He curls his fingers around Louis's neck and pulls him in for another kiss, a real kiss. 

Louis hums into Harry's lips, twisting his fingers into Harry's hair like Louis knows he loves. He pulls away eventually to say, "My day was fine. Zayner and I talked about adding another wing to the library but instead decided to invest in a hovercraft. How was yours?"

Harry smiles weakly, unable to let go of the need to know what's bothering Louis. "Good, good. I got my class schedule for my new degree today."

"Ooh!" Louis raises his eyebrows excitedly. "Are you planning on writing the next great American novel?"

"I dunno, love, are you planning on emigrating with me?"

Louis adjusts his position so he's straddling Harry's middle and runs his hands up Harry's chest. "I could be convinced. I read about this place in California yesterday. It's called Ukiah, which is haiku backwards. Isn't that sick? I'd like to live there, I think."

Harry laughs and digs his fingers into Louis's thighs. "You hate poetry."

"It's apparently the sixth best place to live in the States!" Louis says. "And besides, I don't _hate_ poetry."

Harry raises an eyebrow. "Yes, you do."

Louis grins somewhat wryly. "No, I just hate poets."

Rolling his eyes, Harry pinches Louis's stomach. "What's the first best place to live in the States, then?" 

Louis squirms, laughing. "I dunno, I didn't get that far. _Ukiah_ , Haz. I love that name."

Harry tickles Louis until he collapses down on top of him. Brushing their noses together, Harry says, "Okay, let's move there. We can do American things." He slides his hands down the back of Louis's trousers. 

"Ride 'em, cowboy." Louis smiles against his lips, and reaches between them to unbutton Harry's fly. "Yeeeeeehaw."

*

Harry wakes up early, too early, to the sound of a phone buzzing. Louis's. He grabs it and glances at it. The screen just says _Lottie_ and Harry's stomach clenches. 

"Lou," he whispers. "Lou!" He shakes at Louis's shoulder, pressed against Harry's back. 

"What," Louis rasps. 

"Phone." Harry holds the phone at Louis's eye-level. Louis immediately grabs it, sits up. 

"Lottie?" he says, wide awake with traces of panic in his voice. "Lottie, hey sweetie, what's up?" Now his voice is softer, comforting, and he's pushing the covers off him, grabbing his pants from the floor and quietly leaving the room. 

Harry lays back on the bed and sighs. Louis has alluded to his family situation a few times. It's always brief, vague, and dismissed quickly. Louis is full of shrugs and smiles and distraction and. It's _hard_ not to be distracted when Louis Tomlinson decides, because Harry is human and when he's got that hot little body all to himself he's going to take full advantage. 

After twenty minutes of futile attempts at falling back asleep, Harry pulls on some of Louis's joggers on the floor and wanders into the kitchen. Louis is in the bathroom with the door closed, his low soothing voice drifting through the wood. 

Harry is in the middle of making tea when the door opens. 

Louis doesn't see Harry yet, and he rests his forehead against the wall, exhaling heavily before pressing his palms into his eyes. He shakes himself, he actually physically shakes himself -- Harry always thought that was some sort of literary affectation -- and starts back toward the bedroom. 

"Kitchen, Lou," Harry says. 

Louis gives him a half smile as he walks in. "Sorry that woke you," he says. 

Harry shrugs. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, just my little sister." Louis comes behind him and hooks his chin over his shoulder. "Is there tea for me?"

Nodding, Harry starts pouring into their mugs -- Man United for Louis and an old chipped Disneyland one for himself. He turns around to hand it to Louis. "Any reason she called at seven in the morning?"

Louis looks up at him sharply. "She's my sister. I don't think she needs a reason, Harry."

Harry looks back at Louis evenly. "That isn't what I meant."

"She just wanted to catch up," Louis says with a note of challenge in his tone.

"At seven in the morning."

"Christ, what is this? I'm _sorry_ your beauty sleep was cut short, honestly, but can you let it go?"

Harry flinches back, a little involuntarily. "Sorry for caring, Lou," he mumbles and turns around, heading back to the bedroom. 

Louis doesn't follow.

*

Harry texts Zayn as he leaves the flat. It's eight in the morning and he'll feel awful if he wakes Liam or Zayn up, but he's too anxious to wait. Louis was acting too forcibly normal by the time Harry left, full of kisses and cheeky groping, and no acknowledgement of their weird argument. 

_can we meet up before work?_ Harry sends Zayn. 

_are you coming onto me?_ he gets back quickly, almost immediately followed by, _yeah but i doubt i can help_.

Harry sighs. _val's at 2, thx m8_ , he texts back. He drops his phone in his pocket and fiddles with his bracelets. 

It's Monday, and he has his first class in this new wild territory of his English degree today. Modern American Literature. Harry's anxious. 

He heads back to his tiny flat and showers quickly, grabbing a muffin and his new books -- short story and poetry anthologies and not endless equations, it's all very odd -- and walks to campus. 

The lecture hall is packed, and Harry scans the crowd for Nick and Aiden, the mates who convinced him to finally stop going back and forth and switch his degree. Aiden waves at him excitedly from the back row. Harry grins. 

"Hazza! Worried you weren't gonna make it, what with your busy life of being buried in your boyfriend's--" Nick claps a hand over Aiden's mouth. Harry pulls a face.

"Lovely to see you, too, mate." Harry drops his bag on the floor and sits down. He pulls out his phone, checking to see if Louis texted at all. He hasn't.

"Oh my god," Aiden says. "Can you seriously not make it without sexting him?"

"Shut up," Harry says and puts it on silent. 

The professor strolls in, then, slamming the door behind him. He stands at the podium and surveys the room. "Good morning," he says. "I'm Professor Summers. This is Modern American Literature. If you're in the wrong class, I suggest you leave now and we'll never mention it again."

Harry pulls out a notebook and pen and tries not to feel out of his depth already.

*

Zayn's already seated at Val's when Harry gets there. "Sorry, mate," he says as he drops into the booth across from him. 

"No worries," Zayn looks up from his phone and grins a little. "So, what's the problem? If your sex life's fallen flat, I really don't care to know."

Harry laughs. "I think you'd actually be the first to know." 

Zayn makes a face and nods helplessly. 

Harry looks down at the table, then. "I just... he doesn't tell me anything." 

"Ah," Zayn says. He looks at Harry consideringly. "What, specifically, doesn't he tell you?"

"It's not, like." Harry stops, sighs. "It's not like I _need_ him to tell me everything, you know? Like, I know that he's gone through a lot and I totally get that he might not feel comfortable sharing all that with me at this point. But, like. Like, yesterday when I came in. He'd been crying, right? Like, he was upset about something. And he just. He just wouldn't say anything. I'm not, like, an idiot, you know?"

Zayn purses his lips. "Yeah, Haz, I don't know what to say. Lou's got a fuckton of issues. And he's not... well, you know. He doesn't trust easily. It always seems to come back and bite him, whenever he does, and I guess he's just. Stopped trusting people."

"But I'm his boyfriend, Zayn."

Shrugging, Zayn just looks at him. "Give him time, Harry. That's really all I can say. It's only been a few months. Give him a bit more time."

Harry scrubs a hand over his face. "Yeah. Thanks. Sorry for this, like, I know it's not your place to tell me anything."

Zayn takes a sip of his coffee. "Yeah, well. Being Louis Tomlinson's boyfriend was never gonna be an easy job."

Harry smiles ruefully. "But someone has to do it."

Raising his cup in a saluting gesture, Zayn tips his head. "Amen."

"So how are you and Liam doing, by the way?" Harry gestures to the waitress for another cup of coffee. 

Zayn ducks his head, grins, shrugs. "Good, it's good. He's... good."

"Ah, articulate as ever, Malik."

"Fuck off. He's..." Zayn trails off. 

"Say good again," Harry challenges.

"God, just because you're dating the king of superlatives."

"Am I?" 

Zayn laughs loudly. "Christ, mate, you should have heard him when he met you. I think the word 'lovely' has forever lost its meaning. Also 'amazing,' and 'sweet,' and 'charming,' and every other bloody adjective. Sickening, really."

Harry coughs, trying in vain to hide his smile. "Seriously?"

Zayn rolls his eyes. "I'm surprised he doesn't keep a bright pink journal with 'Mrs. Harold Styles' scrawled all over the cover."

"Please, stop, I might blush." 

"You two are gonna be fine, yeah?" Zayn says, suddenly serious. "Just be patient with him. He loves you, you know. He just has to work through whatever's stopping him from believing it."

Harry's overwhelmingly grateful to Zayn, for his calming words, his calming presence. "I wish I had a best friend like you, mate."

Zayn half-smiles at Harry. "I am pretty fantastic, aren't I?"

*

Work passes by quickly. Niall is a goddamn typhoon in the kitchen, and Harry always finds himself watching him with awe until Niall catches him and snaps, "Oi! Stop checking me out, pervert, and get to work!" 

Louis and Zayn burst in periodically, too, and Louis is frazzled and jittery -- hyped up on interaction and movement, while Zayn is generally annoyed and sluggish, causing Louis to give Harry these wide-eyed frustrated glances, as if Harry has any influence over Zayn's behaviour. 

As is custom, they all pile in the kitchen as soon as the last customer leaves. 

Niall's laying on his back on the counter, and Harry idly wonders at how many health code violations they break in a shift. 

"I wish I could be drunk _all the time_ ," Niall muses. 

Zayn snorts loudly. "Aren't you anyway?"

Sighing longingly, Niall rolls over to look at them. Liam is organising the set of knives Harry left strewn over the cutting boards; Zayn is hunched over himself, leaning against the sink counting cigarettes -- probably rationing them out over the next few hours, depending on his varying levels of annoyance. Louis is pressed against Harry's side, playing with Harry's fingers, and almost completely checked out from his surroundings. Harry lets him be, lets him get lost in his head. 

"What should we do tonight?" Liam asks, having graduated from knife duty. 

Zayn looks up from his fags and glances around. "We could all go back to mine and Lou's. Have some drinks there. Easier on my wallet, at least."

Niall nods and slithers off the counter. "Excellent! No chance of me getting lost on the way home, either, because I'm sleeping over!" He grabs his jacket and slams open the door, allowing no room for protest. 

Harry raises his eyebrows. "Okay, I guess that's happening. Sound good, Lou?" He looks down at Louis. 

"What?" Louis says, eyes focusing on Harry's. 

"Drinks at yours tonight."

"Oh, sure, yeah, good. Bit low on funds anyway." Louis glances at Zayn briefly before following Niall out the door. "You coming, Haz?" he says over his shoulder when he notices Harry hasn't moved. 

Biting his lip, Harry mutters, "Yeah." He holds back the incessant fucking questions that always pour through his mind after any one of Louis's vague statements. It's like he speaks in puzzles: giving Harry pieces at a time, but simultaneously hiding some, stealing some back, mixing in pieces from different puzzles. 

They just got paid yesterday. 

*

They're piled in the living room at Louis and Zayn's. Liam and Zayn are curled on one end of the couch. Niall is sitting opposite them with one leg over the back, a bowl of popcorn resting on his chest. Harry and Louis are on the floor; Harry leaning against the couch and Louis between his legs. Niall's foot is too close to Harry's face for comfort. He buries his nose into Louis's hair. 

"Let's play truth or dare," Niall says randomly. There's nothing on the telly and nobody wants to get up and put on a DVD. They're four drinks in each and while that's Liam's limit, Harry has no plans of stopping tonight. He's tired and stressed and there's no class tomorrow and he wishes he could not worry about Louis for one bloody second. 

He's not sure how this happened, even. He's not sure how he fell in so deep with this group of people; with this one _boy_. One minute he was a small town kid in the posh part of Cheshire, bunking off school and playing football and working at a bakery, and there was this haze of absolute simplicity around him -- everything was fine and what could go wrong? But then all of the sudden everything was less fine and his parents were fighting and it all became confusing. Everything got so confusing so quickly. His parents were fighting all the time -- _all the time_ \-- and then his friend Martin started inviting him over more and more and he told Martin everything and then Martin kissed him and he was like _oh, okay_ and it made nothing clearer, not at all, because his parents were still fighting and he maybe liked a boy and then his dad was all, _right, fuck you, I'm leaving_ , and Gemma ran away for a week until she called from Liverpool in tears and Harry took his mum's car and got her and they slept on the side of the road that night because neither of them could go back and. 

And now he's in London working at this stupid upscale restaurant with three of the most amazing people he's ever met. And this one boy. This one boy that's got him so turned around and insane and stressed out and he doesn't know how to _deal with this_ , he's never learnt how to deal with this. He just wants to give Louis everything, is what it seems to be coming down to, and he doesn't know how to make Louis see that. And there's the issue of how he's _eighteen_ and just starting uni and he's not meant to have his world revolve around one person and it's not meant to be this way and. 

Everything got so confusing so quickly. 

Harry maybe needs another drink, but probably not. He reaches past Louis's knee for the vodka anyway. As an afterthought, he splashes in a bit of juice so it looks a bit more like he's not aiming to get absolutely plastered. That's a lie, though. 

There's conversation going on around him. 

"Wait, what?" Harry says slowly, blinking. 

Louis tilts his head backwards, chuckling at him. "How you holding up, soldier?"

"Good, yeah, pretty great. You're sexy. What're we talking about?"

Niall laughs. "Truth or dare; you in?"

Harry starts to smile but it feels like it takes about five minutes to get all the way across his face. He's always been told he's got a big mouth, though, so fair enough. "Yeah, mate. Yeah, sounds good."

"Okay." Niall looks around the group, calculating. 

The problem is, Harry thinks, is that there's not one weak link. There are five fucking weak links. Five boys with fucked up stories and fucked up ways of ending up where they all are. The problem is, Harry thinks, where do you draw the line?

"Liam. Truth or dare."

Liam looks up from his position on Zayn's chest. "Mm. Truth. Never moving again."

Niall narrows his eyes. "Alright. How long have you liked Zayn?"

Zayn's face tenses, then smooths into a mask of blankness almost immediately. Louis twists around in Harry's arms to watch this unfold. Harry leans his forehead onto Louis's shoulder, feeling dizzy and inexplicably nervous. Foreshadowing, he thinks. English degree, that's where he's headed. 

Liam's jaw twitches a bit and his body is very still. "I, um. I don't know? I guess it was always there in the back of my mind but I wrote it off as hopeless a long time ago. So, you know." He shrugs. "A few years, I guess, but not, like, actively. I didn't want to step on any toes."

Zayn's arms come around Liam tighter. Louis looks away, draws his knees up to his chest, the muscles in his shoulders tight. 

It's quiet for a moment, until Liam realises he might have made things awkward. "Um. Harry! Truth or dare?" 

Harry downs the last of his fifth drink, and reaches for the bottle again. Louis makes an aborted movement to stop him. Harry ignores it. "Truth, mate. Don't think I could stand if I wanted to." 

Liam hums consideringly. "Okay. Um. How many people have you slept with?" He stops. "Like, er, fucked, I mean," he clarifies uncomfortably. 

Harry rolls his eyes. "Three." 

And, suddenly, there are four pairs of eyes on him, burning into him. 

" _Three_?" Louis repeats in a high-pitched voice. 

A muscle in Harry's jaw twitches involuntarily. "Yeah, Lou. Three."

Louis stares at him, searching, before nodding slowly. 

Harry doesn't even bother. "Zayn. Truth or dare?" 

Zayn laughs a little nervously. "Far be it for me to break from tradition. Truth, I guess."

Harry closes his eyes. "What's your happiest memory of Louis?"

The room is still for several moments. Then Zayn clears his throat. "Okay. Um. We were fourteen, I guess. Lou was captain of our football team, some small Sunday league team in Doncaster, but, y'know, we were fourteen and it was everything, right? Like, every match was the Champions League final and we were United. Lou was always Giggsy, you know, a fucking hammer of a foot and just. He was phenomenal. And I always fancied meself Cantona, right, because what fourteen year old doesn't, I guess. And, like, we were down three-nil at half and we were playing this team from the other side of town and we fucking _hated_ them, we wanted to absolutely destroy them, but this game was hopeless and just. At halftime, Lou pulled us all together on the side of this muddy pitch and just started going mad at us, right, like, what the fuck were we doing out there, how could we let this happen. He was just. On fire that day. It was beautiful to watch, I dunno. Second half we came back in and just stole it. We bloody stole it from under their noses and. I guess. I don't know. Seeing Lou's face after that win, all covered in mud. He was just. Glowing. I dunno." Zayn stops, breathes in heavily. "I loved him a lot right then."

It's like the negative space in the room is a separate entity. No one speaks, until Louis draws in a rasping breath. Harry doesn't know what to do. Louis's shoulders are shaking in front of him and he doesn't know whether or not it's his place to touch right now. He doesn't know if this is Zayn's territory, if Zayn is the only one allowed to acknowledge how this affected Louis. Harry doesn't know if he'll be shrugged off or welcomed and it makes him so _angry_ in that moment, so fucking furious at Louis for making him unsure, unsteady and Harry _knows_ it's the alcohol that's doing this, but he can't turn it off and his hands are trembling. His hands won't stop trembling. 

Zayn's eyes are heavy on Harry but he refuses to turn. Louis composes himself -- only one choked inhale before he's the same master of disguise. 

"Niall," Zayn says. "Truth or dare?"

"Truth," he says through a mouthful of popcorn. "But for chrissakes, lighten the mood a little."

"Alright, okay, say you're on death row. What's your last meal?"

Niall turns serious almost immediately. "Wow, right in the jugular. Alright. Okay. Let's see. Mashed potatoes. Chicken pot pie. Shepherd's pie. Scalloped potatoes. Pizza. Fried black pudding. Corned beef and cabbage. Irish ham. And a chocolate cake. Three cakes. All the cakes."

Zayn nods approvingly. "Good answer, mate."

Niall groans. "And all I have here is some fucking popcorn. I hate you, Malik, I really bloody do. Lou, truth or dare?"

"Dare."

No one's surprised.

"Okay," Niall says slowly. "I dare you to... tell us how far you and Zayn have gone together!" He laughs loudly, glancing around. 

No one else is laughing. 

Louis unfolds himself gracefully and stands up. "No. You can give me a dare or you can ask someone else a question, but I'm not answering that." He walks into the kitchen and comes back with a glass of water. He presses it into Harry's hand and presses a kiss to Harry's cheek. 

"Are you okay?" he whispers.

Harry shrugs. Fuck Louis for asking. Fuck Louis for expecting an answer to a question he won't acknowledge himself. 

"This has maybe turned a bit not fun, lads," Liam says tentatively. 

Harry ignores Liam, and sets the glass of water aside. He stares at Louis. "How many people have _you_ slept with, then, Louis?"

Louis's gaze sharpens coldly and he just looks at Harry for a moment. "I'm going to bed," he says and there's a commanding air of finality in the way he turns his back on Harry. 

The room is absolutely silent. 

"You should maybe go, Harry," Zayn says. "This probably isn't going to be a good night."

"Fuck you," Harry says, and god, he drank too much. 

"Harry," Liam starts, but Harry's already standing, waving him off. 

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Tell Louis... no, whatever. I'll talk to him later. God. Bye. Sorry."

He stumbles out the door and makes it two blocks before he's curled up next to a garbage bin, puking and crying and hating everything. 

*

The next morning, in the shock of the century, Louis texts him at 6:34 in the morning. 

_i'm sorry. 22._

And then:

_where are you? i want to talk to you_

And:

_harry please where are you, did you walk home?_

Also:

_harry are you asleep or dead, please tlel me now_

Then finally:

_im coming over, if youre dead ill kill you_

*

Harry wakes up at 8:13 in the morning to someone crawling under his covers. 

"The fuck?" he mutters, too hungover and pathetic to summon any real panic. 

"Shh," the someone murmurs. "Sleep."

"Louis?" Harry rasps, rolling over to face him.

Louis smiles wanly. "The one and only."

Harry reaches out a clumsy hand and rests it on Louis's cheek. "I'm so sorry, Lou. That was super inappropriate of me, last night." 

Louis turns his head and presses a soft kiss to Harry's palm. "It's okay, love. I mean, yeah, in front of the lads, maybe a bit inappropriate, but. There are some things you deserve to know, and. I'll try harder. Check your phone, maybe." 

Harry reaches toward the nightstand and grabs his phone, scrolling quickly through Louis's texts. "I... oh. Um." He turns back to Louis, who is decidedly looking anywhere but at Harry. He may actually be counting threads in the sheets. 

"It's big, I know," says Louis in a small voice. 

"Hey," Harry says. "Hey, Lou, no, come on. I don't care. You know I don't care. Louis, look at me."

Louis raises his eyes to Harry and he can see the slight pink of his cheeks. "Lou, babe, stop. It doesn't mean anything to me."

Louis lets out a huff of air, frustrated. "It _should_ , Harry!" His body twists under the sheets as he shifts positions frantically. "It should! I don't blame you if it does. It's. God."

Harry watches him carefully. "All I care about," he says slowly, "is that I'm the only one you're with now and that you're happy. That's it."

Turning again onto his side, Louis meets Harry's eyes briefly before dropping them. They lay there in silence for a few moments.

"Harry," Louis starts. 

"Yeah, Lou."

"Harry, they think my mum has cancer," he whispers. 

Harry just stares at Louis for a moment; stares at the scared boy across the bed from him, the boy who already lost his mum once, who can't go through that again. Then he's moving, pulling Louis toward him, into his arms. 

"Oh fuck, Louis, oh fuck. Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck."

Louis is shaking, and Harry's t-shirt is getting damp with hot tears and. Oh fuck. 

"I don't know what to do, Harry, I don't know what to do." He's gasping now, panicking. Harry strokes his back, his hair, kisses his forehead.

Louis is still talking, muttering frantically against Harry's skin. "I sent Lottie all of my money, but there's no way they have enough and I just. I don't know what to do. I love her _so much_ , Harry, and what if I never see her again? I never thought. I never thought this was forever. I thought they'd come around, I thought maybe someday... oh my god. Oh my god."

"Lou, no, it'll be okay. It'll be okay, love." Harry squeezes his eyes shut. "Lou, please try to calm down. You need to breathe, love, you need to breathe." 

Louis pulls away from him slightly and presses his palms against his eye sockets. "I'm sorry I've been so awful lately."

"God." Harry chokes on an empty laugh. "God, Louis, no. Don't worry about that."

"Zayn told me that you talked to him. And. I'm just. I'm sorry. You shouldn't have had to do that. I'm so sorry." 

"Louis," Harry says pleadingly. "Louis, no, I was just worried. I just worry about you all the time. I just want to be able to help you, to be there for you. I just. Oh god, Louis, come on, you have to know how much I love you."

Louis makes a small noise in his throat. It's the first time either of them have said that word. "Harry..." 

Harry shakes his head. "Don't. Don't right now. Just lay here with me for now. We're fine. Louis, god. It'll all be okay. Just. Be here with me. Breathe."

Louis gazes at him with glassy eyes for a moment before nodding minutely and curling into Harry's body. 

"You gonna sing me to sleep, Haz?"

Harry's mouth twitches into a half smile. "Yeah, Lou. Yeah, I am."

 

*

Harry's at Louis and Zayn's after his Wednesday class. He's got his books and papers spread out on the floor in front of the television and Louis is on the couch with a package of biscuits and Misfits on. Zayn's sitting on the other side across from Louis with a novel on his lap, but he seems way busier with his phone than anything. 

"What're you working on?" Louis asks Harry during an advert break. 

Harry groans. "Emily fucking Dickinson. Three pages of analysing the Master Letters." 

Louis raises an eyebrow. " _I've got a tomahawk in my side but that don't hurt me much_ ," he says in some sort of American/Scottish hybrid accent. 

"What, you're secretly a Dickinson fan, Lou? So much for hating poetry, honestly." Harry sets down his pen and pops his back. 

"I don't hate poetry!" Louis kicks a foot out, nudging Harry.

Harry leans back onto his elbows, stretching his legs out in front of him. "Right, right, just poets. You'd fucking hate my professor, then." 

Louis visibly tenses. "Would I, now? Who's your professor?"

"He's pretty up himself, to be honest. Fancies himself a brilliant poet; one of those types, you know. Spent twenty minutes on a PowerPoint that was just, like, photos of pigeons, while he read his own stuff out loud to us. Like, honestly, did we have to be there for that? Couldn't he just wank on his own?"

Pursing his lips, Louis says, "I mean, like, what's his name?"

Harry looks at him curiously. "Summers. Why?"

Zayn looks up from his phone at that. "Are you fucking serious?"

"What? Why?" Harry looks between both of them. Louis looks ill and Zayn has fire in his eyes. 

"That fucking shithead has no business teaching anything," Zayn spits. 

Harry has no idea what's going on. "I mean, like, he's pretty irritating, but he seems to know what he's talking about, so..." 

" _Louis_ ," Zayn says. "Jesus. You're not getting out of this one."

Louis is pale. "Shut up."

" _What_ is going on?" Harry demands. 

Louis shrugs. "I was going after an English degree a few years ago, too."

"You went to uni?" Harry asks. Little surprises, every day. Four months in the life of dating Louis Tomlinson. 

Louis rolls his eyes and quirks an almost-smile. "You haven't got to sound so shocked, Styles."

"No, I just mean like. You've never mentioned it."

"Well, I'm not anymore, am I?" Louis asks pointedly.

Harry's absolutely lost the plot of this conversation. "So, what, you had Summers or something?"

Zayn snorts.

It clicks. Harry's eyes widen. "Are you fucking kidding me."

Louis is glaring at Zayn. "Thanks loads."

Zayn shrugs. "It's his bloody professor, mate. He needs to know."

Harry's still processing. "Wait. Are you serious? You -- are you serious?!"

"Mistakes... were made," Louis gets out eventually. "I was eighteen. I don't know. It kind of just happened."

" _What_? How does that _kind of just happen_?! I'm pretty sure that takes some serious effort on _someone's_ part!" Harry feels like he's having an out of body experience or some shit. Like, he's watching himself play the part of a kid who's just found out his boyfriend slept with his professor. Like, this isn't real life. This can't possibly be real life. 

Louis's eyes are wide and he looks a bit panicked. _Join the fucking club_ , Harry thinks. "I... I don't know! He was young and charming and attractive and a _poet_ and--"

"You hate poets!" Harry says, and then realises. Oh. 

"I do _now_ , Harry." Louis looks down. 

"Jesus Christ." Harry runs a hand through his hair. "Zayn, give me a fag." 

Zayn throws a disapproving look at him, but tosses the pack over. Harry gets up and lets himself out. "Just. Give me a few minutes," he says behind him, because he knows Louis, and if Harry leaves in the middle of an argument without giving some reassurance, there's a shitstorm of insecurity waiting for him when he gets back. 

*

Twenty minutes later, he lets himself back into the flat. "Okay, Louis. Tell me what happened."

Louis sighs. "Must we do this?"

" _Um_. Absolutely yes. How the fuck am I supposed to sit in his class for the rest of the semester knowing he fucked my boyfriend, Louis?" Harry's voice raises slightly.

Louis looks a little stricken. "How is knowing the details going to make it easier?"

"I don't know, but I can't. I can't not know. Jesus. How is this my life?" Harry is standing in the middle of the living room and he looks around, as if some Big Brother cameraman is hiding behind the bookcase in the corner. 

Louis looks to Zayn, as if asking for help. Zayn just shakes his head. "This is all you, big guy."

Louis bites his lip and looks back to Harry. "Fuck. Let's... go to my room, I guess."

Harry follows him down the hall dazedly. Louis closes the door behind them.

"Okay," he starts. "Okay, I'll tell you this, and I want you to know I'm incredibly sorry it happened. I regret it almost every day. But, like. Don't take this the wrong way, or whatever -- but. I'm not going to apologise to _you_ for this, okay?"

Harry blinks, nods. "I... of course, Lou. That's not... that's not--"

"No, no, I know," Louis says quickly. "I just. It's taken a long time for me to, like, come to terms, I guess? So. I just needed to say that."

Harry nods again, numbly. This is a movie, right? This has got to be a movie. A dream, maybe. He's in an incredibly lucid dream, some alternate universe where his life is flipped absolutely upside-down by some scarily beautiful, fucked up boy from the north. He sits down on Louis's bed. Louis stays standing, starts pacing back and forth.

"Okay," Louis says again. "I was eighteen and Zayn and I had moved to London about six months before and, like. I was never the best student before but I'd always wanted to go to university. So we came down here and got jobs at Simon's and I saved a bit of money and enrolled in an English class. Some British poetry class or something, I guess. And it was just really, really interesting to me. I got into it, really excited by it. And Summers was just. Captivating. And young, and attractive, and just. I don't know. I had a crush, I guess. But he noticed, or something, or at least he noticed how into the readings I was, so he started calling me in after class and giving me other things to read. At first it was just -- I don't know. I didn't think it was anything. I was some dumb eighteen year old kid and he was married. I thought it was just some sort of harmless hero-worship flirting thing. I just thought he was flattered, or whatever. But then he started giving me more, like, sexual stuff to read? I guess?" 

Louis stops, looks at Harry uncomfortably. 

Harry's staring at his fingers. 

"Should I stop?" Louis asks hesitantly. 

"I... no. No. Just. Nothing graphic, please," Harry glances up at Louis and smirks a little.

Louis rolls his eyes, but looks relieved at Harry's calmness. "I'll _try_ to resist. Anyway, so yeah, I guess just like. One thing led to another, as they say, and he kissed me. And then he started taking me out to dinner after our little meetings. And that turned into me going home with him, and it was just. I don't know. It was nice for awhile. Exciting, I guess, to have this older, intelligent guy interested in me. But then the semester started winding down and he started getting colder and colder and by that time more and more people had started... noticing? And like asking me questions, saying things. And it just turned kind of miserable -- being the class slag, the boy who sucked the professor off for the grade. I was getting all these looks, hearing all this stuff people were saying, and he wasn't being charming anymore, he was just being rude and kind of filthy and he was _married_ , christ, I don't know what I was thinking." Louis pauses, breathes. "So. That's what happened. I really hoped I'd never have to tell you that, honestly."

Harry nods and slumps back across the bed. "Your life is nothing if not a whirlwind, Lou."

Louis almost smiles and sits next to him. "Um, you're not... are you mad?" 

Harry turns his head and gazes up at him. Louis looks nervous and embarrassed and it strikes Harry, suddenly, that Louis doesn't hide things from him because he doesn't trust him. Louis hides things because he cares what Harry thinks of him, cares about Harry's impression of him. Harry feels selfish, all at once. Selfish for all the anger he's harboured for Louis under everything. The short, hot flashes of irritation after every half sentence, every vague dismissal, every quick subject change. It's not Louis protecting himself, anymore -- it probably was in the beginning, Harry knows -- it's Louis protecting _Harry_.

Harry feels his face soften. He _knows_ what he looks like when he looks at Louis sometimes. He knows what he's thinking -- how fucking in love he is -- is written all over his face sometimes. He knows he's just one big stupid heart beating outside his skin. And he knows what he looks like right this moment, right after Louis told him this sordid fucking story about fucking his professor, and he hopes like hell Louis can see all the love in his eyes.

"Of course I'm not mad. I'm weirded out that a guy who's grading my papers has fucked my boyfriend, yeah, and I'm annoyed because he doesn't deserve to touch a single inch of your gorgeous body, yeah, but I'm not mad at you. Not a little. Don't ever think I'll judge you for something like this, Louis, because I won't." Harry pulls Louis down next to him by his arm, and curls around him. 

Louis laughs ruefully. "Harold Styles. What am I going to do with you?"

Harry smiles into Louis's neck. "Love me, maybe."

"You know I do."

*

The next morning, Louis's phone goes off again next to Harry's head. He reaches for it. Lottie again. There's a real bolt of fear shooting through him this time. It's 5:54am, too early for anything but panic.

"Louis." Louis is curled up against his front, looking so young in sleep. Peaceful. Harry doesn't want to do this. 

"Louis, babe, phone." He gently shakes Louis's shoulder and pushes his bangs off his face. "Lou."

Louis's eyes slowly open and he smiles up at Harry, before taking in Harry's expression and the lit-up phone in his hand. His face falls and his eyes widen. 

"Lottie? Hey, sweetheart." Louis sits up, leans against the headboard. He makes no move to leave this time. Harry wraps his arms around Louis's middle and says a prayer to a god he's never had the energy to believe in. 

All he hears is a rushed, high pitched, frightened voice on the other end and all he sees is Louis's face tightening, his eyes closing. Harry softly strokes his ribs, comforting in the only way he can. 

"Okay. Okay, honey. Okay. I'll come up as soon as I can," Louis is saying. He pauses for a moment, letting his sister talk. "Yeah. No, darling, of course. You're being so strong. I'm so proud of you, Lottie." He's quiet again, then, "I love you girls so much. I'll see you in a few hours, okay? Just. Stay together, and don't answer the door till I get there." There's more quick speaking on the other line. Louis sighs. "I'll be fine. And, Lottie? There's someone I want you to meet. Would -- would that be okay?"

Harry looks up, eyes wild. Louis looks down at him, shocked at himself, scared. They stare into each other's eyes, neither sure of anything. 

"Okay, love. I'll see you soon. Just. Keep everyone calm. You're such a big girl, honey, you're so amazing. Bye, sweetheart. Love you too." 

Louis hangs up and slides down back into Harry's body. "Fuck. _Fuck_."

Harry stays quiet, waits. Runs his hands up and down Louis's back, pulling him closer. 

"Pancreatic cancer. That's the fast one, right? The one that kills the best?" Louis's voice is shocked numb. 

Harry just makes a pained noise and kisses him on every bit of skin he can find. 

"Will you come up with me today? The girls are home alone and. And I need to be there. _Fuck_. Oh my god, they're going to lose their mother. Oh my god. Oh my god, Harry, oh my god." His breath is coming quicker, harsher, and he clings to Harry desperately, nails digging into his back, his collarbones. 

"Lou. Louis..." Harry's at a loss for words, has absolutely no idea what to say or think or do. "Louis, baby, let's get moving. Let's go. No time for thinking right now, okay? The girls need you. They need their big brother."

Louis squeezes his eyes shut and every muscle in his body tenses, before nodding resolutely and sitting up. "Yeah, yeah. Okay, yeah. We're going. Oh, god. Oh, god, Harry, this is going to be bad. What if she wants to see me? Harry. Oh my god. What if she _doesn't_?" Louis stops moving suddenly and looks at Harry, looking all of four years old. 

Harry feels like he could set everything on fire. Adrenalin is coursing through him and he just wants to explode into millions of atoms, become part of nature instead of endlessly fighting against it. "You're her son, Lou. There's no way... No. You're her son and she loves you. End of. Put your trousers on. We're taking my dad's car."

*

The drive to Doncaster is quiet, tense. They try to play music, at first, but as soon as Harry's iPod spits out The Antlers' _Hospice_ album, Louis violently pushes the power button. Harry can't argue with that. 

Before they left London, Louis woke Zayn and told him what was happening. Harry left them alone for that, pretended not to hear Louis's dry, wracking sobs coming from behind Zayn's closed door. Zayn offered to come, Harry knew. What Harry didn't know was why Louis said no. 

But now they're silently screaming up the M1 and Harry cannot get this explosive energy out from under his skin. He's taking it out on the accelerator, watching the kmph climb and climb. Harry's knuckles are white against the wheel and Louis's are balled into white fists. Ghost hands, Harry thinks wildly, ghost hands, ghost lips, ghost boys. 

There's an hour left till they're there. Harry hasn't even began to mentally prepare himself for what this means for him, personally. Meeting his boyfriend's family -- his boyfriend's estranged family. His boyfriend's estranged family, who kicked him out at sixteen for liking other boys, who kept him from his sisters, who abandoned him with nothing but a best friend, who never sent birthday cards, who never gave any semblance of a fuck whether he was alive or dead. Harry's not fucking prepared for this. Not fucking prepared to meet these people he feels nothing but contempt for, and especially not prepared to meet them on a deathbed. 

"You'll love the girls," Louis says suddenly. "I know you will." He sounds scared out of his mind. 

Harry glances at him. "Please, Lou, you know I already think they're angels."

Louis gives him a wan smile. "They're going to fall in love with you, I can see it already. They're suckers for charming, cute boys."

"They must have learnt from the best." Harry winks. 

"Cheeky!" Louis pinches Harry's thigh. 

They go quiet again. Ghost boys, he thinks. 

*

Harry doesn't have time to take in their surroundings when they pull up to the Tomlinson's modest house in Doncaster -- Louis is scrabbling for the door handle and he's bolting out of the car, dashing up the walk. Harry rips the keys out of the ignition and follows him as quickly as possible. 

"Lottie!" Louis is banging on the door. "Lottie, it's Lou, come on, sweetie, open up." 

The door cracks open minutely and two identical pairs of eyes stare up at them curiously. "Louis?" the two tiny girls both ask.

Louis drops to his knees. "Oh, god, girls, you're so big, I've missed you so much, come here, oh my god, oh my god," he's babbling into their hair as he crushes them to his chest. Harry stands back, not a little awkwardly. 

Louis remembers him after a few moments. "Pheebs, Daze, this is my... friend, Harry. Haz, these are my baby sisters, Pheobe and Daisy. Say hi, girls."

"Hi, Harry," they say in unison, looking a little nervous. 

Harry crouches down to their level. "Hey, ladies. Daisy, I love your dress! Did you pick it out? And Phoebe, did you braid your hair all by yourself?"

Both Daisy and Pheobe nod shyly, blushing. 

"You girls are amazing." Harry winks at them. Louis gazes at him above their heads, looking so, so grateful. Harry just gives him a soft look, sending him every bit of strength he possibly can. 

Louis turns back to the girls. "Where's Lottie?" he asks them. 

Daisy points behind her into the house. "Making lunch," she says. "Mummy stopped making us food, and Lottie doesn't do it right!" She stamps her foot. 

Pheobe chimes in, "Yeah! Her mac and chiz went hard and lumpy. It was _so gross_." 

Louis's face tightens. He lowers his voice and _oh, god_ , Harry thinks. This is Louis in parent-mode. This was how Louis was before life happened. 

"Girls, I know things are different now. Things might always be different. But you need to let that happen. You need to thank Lottie and tell her how great she is and how great her food is, because you know what, guys?" 

They shake their heads, wide-eyed at their brother. 

Louis continues, "She's trying as hard as she can to make everything perfect for you. And it might not be perfect. Actually, we all know it's not perfect. But she's doing everything she can for you and we all need to tell her how amazing she is, okay?"

They nod. Louis smiles and swings them both into his arms and carries them into the house. "Now let's find your big sisters!" 

Harry follows, a little in awe. 

They reach the kitchen and there are two more girls, this time older and more tired-looking. They turn immediately. The older one lets out a short scream.

"Louis!" she exclaims, and runs to him. Louis quickly sets the twins on the ground and pulls the girl -- Lottie, Harry presumes -- into his arms. "God, Louis, I've missed you so much." Her voice is choked and rasping. 

The younger girl is hanging back, with tears silently running down her face. 

Louis pulls back from Lottie. "God, sweetheart. Hi." He brushes her hair back from her face and tries in vain not to look devastatingly sad at seeing them in this state. He looks past Lottie, then, to the other girl. 

"Fizzy. Hey, darling. It's been a long time." Louis hesitantly walks toward her, reaches out a hand. She stares at it for a moment, before brushing her fingers against his. Suddenly, it's like a dam breaks, and she collapses into him, sobs tearing from her body. Louis holds her close, closes his eyes. Harry can see him willing himself not to break down, too. Someone needs to be strong for these girls, and Harry can tell that was always Louis's job. 

Lottie looks away from her brother, finally, and turns to Harry. Her expression is a bit wary, a bit suspicious. "Hi. I'm Lottie."

Harry smiles at her, holds out his hand. "I'm Harry, your brother's friend."

She arches an eyebrow. "Friend?"

Harry opens his mouth, then closes it. He looks to Louis. 

Louis shakes his head slightly, and says, "Yeah, no. This is Harry. He's my boyfriend. He's... important."

Four sets of eyes are staring at Harry, now. He blushes. "I, um. Hi. I've heard so much about all of you. Um." Like, what the hell does he say here? He doesn't want to be all like, _pleasure to meet you finally_ , because who the hell says that to four girls whose mum is dying? And he doesn't want to be all like, _so it's a drag about your mum, eh?_ because he's not a total fucking twat, either. He's... at a loss. Completely out of his depth. 

Louis looks at him sympathetically. "Harry's shy, don't mind him. So, where were we? Lunch, I think? What do we say to grilled cheese, ladies?"

Daisy and Pheobe both yell, "Yes!" at the top of their lungs. Lottie gives Louis a grateful look and sinks into a chair at the table. Fizzy reaches back out to him and takes his hand again, looking for all the world like she found her anchor. Harry smiles sadly to himself and turns to the fridge, digging around for cheese. 

*

The next few hours are tense and impatient and comforting, all at the same time. Louis, Lottie, and Fizzy disappear for awhile to talk -- Harry shoos Louis's apologetic look away when he mentions this, it's not like Harry thinks he's here to be a guest -- and Harry, Daisy, and Pheobe sit on the floor of their bedroom, Harry trying desperately to keep up with the attention spans of two eight year old girls. He's brushing the hair of all their Barbies and Daisy and Pheobe shriek with laughter as he dresses them up in ridiculous clothes and puts on some outlandish New York accents, making them act out a shopping adventure.

After two hours of tickling, joke-telling, and dolls, they slump against him in the family room and he puts on some old Disney reruns he finds on the telly. They're asleep within five minutes, and Harry stays still, letting them stay curled up next to him. He watches Lizzie McGuire until his eyelids start drooping as well. 

Louis wakes him up with gentle hands combing through his hair and light kisses on his cheeks. 

Harry smiles blearily at him. "So domestic, Lou." 

Louis gives him a quick kiss on the lips. "You bring out the worst in me."

"How do you put up with me, I wonder every day." Harry stretches. His neck aches from sleeping upright. 

"Listen, Haz, we're gonna go to hospital." Louis is biting his lips again. "We're gonna visit her."

Harry nods. "Should I stay here, or do you want me to...?" he trails off uncertainly.

Louis looks away. "I mean, you can totally stay here if you'd like to. That's not a problem at all. Lottie and I were going to go, Fizzy was going to take care of the girls. You could totally hang out with them. That's totally fine. Like. Totally fine."

"Lou."

Louis sighs. "Come. Please. Please come."

Harry holds Louis by the back of his neck, presses their foreheads together. "Of course, Louis. Every time, of course. I'm a given, okay?"

"Thank you," Louis whispers, and keeps them together for a few more seconds, just holding on. 

*

The hospital is white, white, white. The three of them walk in a line, Harry gripping Louis's fingers between his, and Louis's other hand clenched tightly around Lottie's. 

As they reach the doors to the Oncology wing, Lottie pulls them to a stop.

"Lou, I. I... Lou, she looks so different. Just so you know. She's so different. I never really..." she trails off and looks away, blinking rapidly. "I never really knew how to say this to you, but. She's never been the same, since she... since you left. And now it's just. She's been so different since then and now she looks so different, and it's so... I don't know. I wanted to warn you, I guess." She's twisting a lock of her hair around her fingers and she looks so _old_ , suddenly, and god, how is she ever going to be fourteen again? Harry wonders. 

Louis's face stricken, lost. Harry rubs circles into his lower back and Louis pulls Lottie closer to him, bringing her head to his shoulder. "It's okay, sweetie. I'll be okay. I need to be the last thing you worry about, understand? I don't ever want you to worry about me."

Lottie turns her face into his jumper and nods silently before pulling away and turning slightly, running her fingers under her eyes to catch errant mascara. "I've worried about you every day for four years, Louis."

Louis's jaw tightens. "I'm so sorry for that. I'm so sorry you had to go through that."

Lottie looks at him incredulously. " _Louis_. Do you seriously not get how much we love you?"

Louis gives her a small, sad smile. "I'm starting to, love." His fingers find Harry's again and he laces them together. He visibly composes himself, steels himself. "Okay. Let's go."

*

They find the room -- room 429 -- and Louis stops and just stares at the door handle. "Fuck. Fuck." He turns to Harry. "I..."

Harry immediately steps into him, gripping his hips. "You're okay. No matter what, you're going to be okay. You're the strongest person I know, Louis, and you're going to get through everything." 

Louis nods, looking not quite convinced, but at least determined. "You're coming in, right?"

Harry hesitates, looks at Lottie. Lottie nods slightly at him. He turns back to Louis. "I'll be there for as long as you want me to be. But... Lou, you really need to talk to her alone."

Louis's face tightens with pain. He quietly says, "I know." 

He turns the doorknob and the three of them file in. 

The bed is pressed against the wall and there's a small window to the right of it. Machines are blinking and beeping and it's all so technical, all so electronic, everything wired and energized but the small woman huddled in the bed. 

Lottie speaks first. "Mum. I've brought someone."

Their mum looks up and her mouth drops open. 

"Louis."

*

Harry slides down the wall outside of Louis's mum's hospital room and buries his face in his hands. She had burst into tears at the sight of Louis, and Louis's fingers had clenched so hard around Harry's he thought they were going to drop off. Before anyone could say anything else, though, Louis had spoken up. 

"Mum. This is my boyfriend, Harry."

She looked at them standing together, stared at their hands, her eyes slowly travelled up to Harry's face. She gave a short, cold nod. "Fine," she said. 

Harry said nothing to her, just looked at her briefly, feeling a sort of distant sadness; abstract pity that she would never know her son again, never be able to appreciate what a fucking amazing person he'd grown into. He turned to Louis, whose face was purposefully and tightly blank. He whispered, "I love you," kissed him on the cheek, and left the room.

Now, Harry tries to convince himself he left _for_ Louis, left them alone to give them time to come to some sort of peace, some sort of closure. Treaty of Versailles bullshit, he doesn't even know. He does know that no matter how much he tries to convince himself otherwise, he's just a big coward. 

Lottie quietly exits the room and sits beside him. 

"You're pretty great with him," she says after a minute or two of silence.

Harry shrugs. "I just want to give him the best."

Lottie nods. "He deserves it."

They're quiet again, staring across the shiny white floor to the white walls. Harry drags the sole of his Converse across the linoleum, wanting to leave a mark. It's like nothing real exists here. Ghost people, he thinks.

"Is he happy?" she asks suddenly. 

Harry considers this. "I think so, mostly. He's got some definite... issues, from what's happened to him, but. He has Zayn. And some other great friends. A good job. He gets to talk to you guys, and that means so much to him, Lottie, it honestly does. And. You know. I'm trying my best for him. But, I mean. He's so strong. He's so strong and smart and the funniest fucking person I know. He's always going to be fine."

Lottie swallows and tries to smile a little, but fails. Her fingers reach out to Harry shyly and he grasps her hand tightly. 

"Thanks for being here," she says. 

"Wouldn't be anywhere else."

Again, they're silent, and Harry listens to the understated buzz of fear pulsing through the walls of the entire building. He wants to say something to Lottie; he _should_ say something to Lottie. And it's like, he's always been good at comforting, always known how to have the righteous anger, always had the sympathy on tap, but. This is different. This is too starkly _real_ \-- this isn't some abstract, some broken heart.

"Lottie, I. I'm so fucking sorry for your family. I just. I wish there was something I could do. I'm so, so sorry."

Lottie glances at him, pale. She nods, and looks away. "Yeah. I -- yeah. Thanks."

He keeps his hand wound around hers. "You're being absolutely amazing through this, too. So much stronger than I could ever be. Must be something in those Tomlinson genes." 

She smiles a little and holds his hand tighter. 

The door opens next to them and they both look up immediately. Louis looks tired, drained, but. Okay. He looks okay.

"Hi," he says, and gives them a small smile. 

"Hi," they say back in unison. 

Louis looks down at their hands and his face softens even more. "Oi, what's going on here, then? You moving in on my boyfriend, Lottie? Knew I couldn't trust you around cute boys."

Lottie blushes, giggles a little, before scooting over and giving Louis space between them. He sinks down, taking Harry's recently vacated hand and then Lottie's, resting them on his knees. 

"How'd it go?" Harry asks. 

Louis shrugs. "She's... We talked. I guess. She said a lot of things that are four years too late, four years too little. But they're still good to hear. I just... don't care as much as I thought I did. Which is weird? I always thought it would be some dramatic, like, reconciliation scene, you know? Like, with some epic Explosions in the Sky song in the background and the entire audience weeping. Instead it was kind of like. Awkward and courteous and it felt a lot like goodbye."

Harry makes a small sound in his throat and shifts himself closer to Louis, pressing their sides together. Louis tilts his head to lean against Harry's. 

They sit there for a few minutes, lost children in the Oncology wing. 

"I want to see the girls now," Louis finally says.

They all get up, still holding hands, and step out into the sunshine.

*

They spend the night in the house, pulling mattresses and blankets and pillows into the living room. There's a brief but heated argument among the four girls about which two get to sleep next to Louis, but it's settled quickly when Fizzy and Lottie share a look, letting Daisy and Pheobe burrow in beside him. Fizzy takes the outside and Lottie slots in behind Pheobe. Harry lays down beside her. 

Louis winks at them and says, "I've got my eye on you, Lottie. No funny business, hear me?"

Lottie blushes, rolls her eyes. "Shut up, gross."

Harry gasps, mock-offended. "Right in the self-esteem!"

Louis laughs. "I think you're sexy, babe."

"Louis! Children!" Harry exclaims. 

Fizzy and Lottie are giggling at them, Daisy and Pheobe are giggling for the hell of it, and Harry is so _happy_ for the first time in what feels like weeks. He looks over two blonde heads to find Louis's eyes. They gaze at each other for a moment, smiling, and Louis mouths, _love you_.

*

They drive back to London the next morning after tearful goodbyes and innumerable promises to visit. "Soon" and "love" are repeated so many times that they stop sounding like words to Harry, just combinations of vowels. This feels like Louis's reconciliation scene -- the one he deserves, the one he needed. 

After twenty minutes back down the M1, Louis lets out a huge sigh.

Harry glances over at him. "How are you?"

Louis shifts in his seat to face Harry. "Good, I think. It's weird, isn't it? This is one of those situations that, like, never happens to _you_ , right? Like, this is always someone else's life, someone else's problem. You read about it or watch it on Skins or whatever, you know?"

Harry nods, and Louis continues, "But, like, I'm _good_. I feel good." He stops again, huffs out a smaller breath. 

"It was good for them, too, Lou. They needed you. They'll always need you," Harry says.

Louis nods a little. "Yeah, god. It's been so long since I got to spend time with them, you know? Like, to actually get to know them as who they are now, instead of brief hugs and hot chocolates during the, like, five minutes I could be in town and sneak them away for a bit."

"They're amazing girls." Harry pauses, then corrects: "Women."

"Yeah. God." 

They drive in the quiet for a bit until Harry reaches over and puts on Explosions in the Sky. Louis laughs at him, but turns it up. 

"Lottie has a massive crush on you," he says.

Harry grins. "Well, who could blame her?"

Smiling, Louis pulls Harry's left hand off the steering wheel and clasps it between two of his own. He stares out the windshield. "You're so unbelievable, Haz. You're just. So absolutely wonderful."

"Nah, Lou, I'm pretty sure you just bring out the best in everyone."

*

It's mid-afternoon when they get back to Louis's flat, and Zayn, Liam, and Niall are all in the living room, watching Bolton play Tottenham. Tottenham are down 3-2. The first thing Harry and Louis are greeted to as they open the door is:

"Mother _fucker_!" Zayn's bellowing. 

"What happened?" Louis asks as he wanders into the room. 

Zayn doesn't even glance up. "Holden, that bloody _yank_ , just scored a screamer."

Harry laughs. "Those uppity colonists. First the thing with the tea, now this."

Zayn seems to realise they're home, then, and whips around, finding Louis's eyes. "Lou. Lou, how are you? Shit, I'm sorry."

Louis waves a hand. "Bolton can fuck off, I understand. I'm fine. Like. Yeah, no. It was fine. I'm fine. We can talk later."

Zayn nods. Liam reaches out a hand to them and Louis folds himself between him and Niall. Harry sits on the floor in front of Louis's legs and Louis immediately puts his fingers in his hair. 

"What sucks even more than Bolton winning is that, like, half of London are going to be gloaty little shits, you know?" Niall muses.

"Yeah," Louis murmurs. "Fuck Arsenal, too."

Harry starts humming 'Glory Glory Man United' under his breath and Liam joins in, yelling out the words. 

"Let's get drunk," Zayn says.

There are three immediate agreements. Harry groans a little. "I have homework."

"Fuck it!" Louis exclaims. 

Harry turns around to Louis and arches an eyebrow. 

"You already took care of that one, mate," Zayn mutters under his breath.

Louis flushes a little. "I hate all of you," he grumbles. 

Liam smiles and pinches Louis's cheek. "You're so cute when you haven't got a comeback."

Louis squirms away. "I want a divorce."

Niall shakes his head. "Might wanna reconsider, mate -- the prenup explicitly states that we get Harry."

"Fuck. I guess I'm stuck then," Louis sighs.

Harry smiles and reaches his hand up behind him. Louis grasps it surely. 

*

They do end up getting drunk, anyway, because, like, fuck homework. 

"Hey, Lou," Harry slurs. "Truth or dare?"

Louis giggles and presses his face into Harry's shoulder. 

"Truth."


End file.
